Shadows Of Our Former Selves
by fc2001
Summary: A long and draining day is drawing to a close..." How does the ER survive in the face of inconceivable tragedy? Warning: does contain character death.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: I wrote a first, and very poor, draft of this story years ago when I was just 15. Now, a little older and currently working my way through old videotapes, I have again become attached the idea. So, older and I hope wiser, here goes with the revised version. As usual, I own nothing.  
  
Prologue  
  
A long and draining day is drawing to a close, when a man enters the department. He's seeking his son, being treated in the department. The man enters trauma 2, and after a short confrontation, there are several gunshots. Glass shatters, people scream and when the echo of the final gunshot dies down, a doctor lies dead, a bullet in his chest and his blood on the floor.   
  
These are the facts. The events which precede this story. The events which prove that even when the world tumbles around your ears, you've got to stay standing, even if it's the hardest thing to do. 


	2. Silence

Authors Notes: Sorry about the short first chapter. Here goes with the story proper.  
  
"Silence"  
  
She smiled as she felt strong hands slide round her waist, pulling her tight to him. She wriggled and slid round to face him. He grinned widely at her, and she couldn't help but kiss him. His life, his vitality, his energy filled her with hope.  
  
It didn't matter who knew or who saw. Everyone knew. She was proud that he was hers and she knew that the feeling was mutual. Everyone else in the department had just shrugged and uttered the words "it's about time".  
  
"When are you off?"  
  
She asked casually.  
  
"Just got to finish up with this kid, then I'm away,"  
  
She sighed heavily. Alright for some, she thought. He squeezed her waist and she squealed, despite herself.  
  
"Don't…I've got another hour,"  
  
She scolded, then finished her sentence with a sigh. Only another hour, then this shift is over. The hour stretched before her, a seeming eternity, keeping her from him and their life together.   
  
"Unlucky for some,"  
  
"Remember, don't wait up. I'm going to mom's tonight,"  
  
She added quickly as an after thought. His face fell, intentions quite clear. She smacked his shoulder playfully, escaping his grip, and gave him a knowing, contented smile.  
  
"There will be plenty of time for that later,"  
  
"The rest of our lives, my darling, surely,"  
  
She nodded, a shiver of happiness passing unbidden up her spine. She could hardly wait. The rest of their lives. That sounded perfect. He left her alone then, a spring in his step as he walked down to trauma two. She found herself humming away in the drug lock up, mindlessly counting boxes as they passed through her hands.  
  
She was just finished up, her arms cradling the paperwork and a small stack of drug boxes, and about to leave the drug lock up when she heard the sound that ripped her life apart.  
  
A gunshot. Loud and brutally explosive. Her hands covered her ears, the boxes and paperwork scattering across the hallway. Another seconds later. She didn't know if she screamed, but she thinks she must have. The air was filled with the high pitched sound of shrieking, shattering glass, bullets against bright metal and chaos reigned. She ducked, heart racing in her ribcage, struggling for every breath. She counted another two shots. Then silence.  
  
Silence. Heavy, deadly, tragic silence. Something was very wrong. Something awful had just happened. Her stomach turned, instinct clawing at her, telling her something was very very wrong. She knew, just knew that it was him. Something had happened to him. Cold fear gripped her heart, and her feet carried her instinctively to the trauma room door.  
  
She took it all in very slowly, breathing deliberately slow. The shattered glass on the floor, tiny, glinting shards, the light half hanging from the ceiling, a scared little boy, blonde over blue, her eyes finally passing down to the frenetic activity of her colleagues, working on a patient they blocked from her view. She counted her colleagues – Mark, Lucy, Carter, Haleh…She knew then. It had to be him. Son of a bitch.   
  
Haleh turned and walked by her, passing a brief hand over her shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort, cold as it may have been. But she was immobile. Completely paralysed. Unable to feel, unable to move. Eventually, Carter looked up at her. If he made eye contact, she wasn't able to register it.  
  
She saw him move towards her, unsteady on his feet, his white coat stained red just below the shoulder. He was hit too. That hit her like a lightening bolt. He'd been hit, and he'd lived. She was almost glad when he passed out. She wasn't sure she couldn't hate him, irrational though that feeling was. Why had her lover died? Why the hell was he gone? 


	3. A Shot Without Warning

Authors notes: I'm not medically qualified, nor do I know much about the American medical or legal system, so I apologise for any mistakes in this or any subsequent chapters.  
  
"A Shot Without Warning"  
  
"OK, Diane,"  
  
Doug opened, swinging through the trauma room doors with the same easy charm and grace he always had. I had, even as a med student, envied his way with the world. His vigour, his seemingly natural charisma, though irritating, was impressive.   
  
"How's he doing?"  
  
He addressed me instead. I looked down at the chart in my hand.   
  
"Pulse 120.BP 100/40."  
  
"OK, good, well, we're just waiting on a call from…"  
  
His words were interrupted by a loud crash as the trauma room doors slammed open. I wheeled instinctively, saw Lucy stagger and fall against the metal cupboards, then saw a man just inside the doorway. Doug stepped forward, beside me, and without fear made direct eye contact with the man.  
  
"Can we help you?"  
  
His tone was brisk, flat, without fear. Despite myself, my knees trembled.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
Liam screamed, a mixture of terrified and confused. I flashed a glance in his direction, all at once realising just what we might be caught up in. His eyes were bright and shining with terror.   
  
"Can we help you, Mr Andrews?"  
  
"I've come to see my son. I've come to make her pay,"  
  
I've never seen such cold determination on anyone's face. Fear shot right into the core of my soul and I was frozen. I hated it, but I couldn't move. The gun was produced from an inside pocket, glinting evilly in the artificial light, and lined up with Liam. I don't know if I saw his intentions or even if he knew he was doing it, but somewhere between the aim and the shot, Doug put himself between the bullet and the boy.  
  
The first gunshot was shocking. I didn't expect him to fire, so when he did the sound exploded into my mind with an incredible force. Pain shot through me from my upper arm, and I turned to see blood staining my white coat red. With the second shot, I ducked, and I can't clearly remember the rest. There were two further shots, people screaming and glass shattering.  
  
Once the final shot faded away, I opened my eyes again. Doug lay, spreadeagled, on the floor by Liams bed. Diane shrieked hysterically, a high-pitched irritating sound. I recovered myself enough to crawl over to his side. I counted two entry wounds, one just below his sternum, one through the left side of his chest. I could see his eyes were wide open, and that his chest didn't rise and fall as it should.   
  
"Doug? Doug, can you hear me?"  
  
I didn't expect an answer. My stomach twisted and I struggled to function. Every breath was a struggle, heavy and long. Lucy appeared in my line of vision, a bruise rising under her left eye.  
  
"What can I do?"  
  
She said, blocking out reality, and ever eager to help. I gestured towards the patients mother. Diane was still shrieking, and I feared on the point of hyperventilation.  
  
"Calm her down. Get Mark, and keep Carol out of here!"  
  
I commanded, leaving myself virtually breathless. She turned away to do my bidding. Without help or basic observations, I resorted to simple CPR in an attempt to revive my fallen comrade. But I could barely breathe for myself, so every movement was an effort. My leaden limbs wanted to give up, telling me it was useless, but I carried on. Mark burst through the doors seconds later, and fell to his knees beside the patient.   
  
"Shit, what happened?"  
  
Came the disbelieving question, the tone low and heavy.   
  
"Two entry wounds, no respiratory effort, massive blood loss,"  
  
I stuttered eventually, still mechanically performing CPR. I was increasingly aware of an intense pain in my arm. Mark pulled my hands away, put his fingers to Dougs neck.  
  
"He's been like this since it happened?"  
  
I nodded, clenching my fingers round Marks wrist, just trying to hold on to something. My knuckles turned slowly white, and the reality of the situation dawned on me.   
  
"I think he's gone,"  
  
"Do you want me to call it?"  
  
I asked instinctively, needing to grasp the full enormity of the moment. Mark shook his head almost wistfully, no sign of tears in his eyes.   
  
"No need, he died on impact,"  
  
My eyes travelled around the room, as I absorbed the full blow. I released Marks wrist and sat back on my haunches. The gun lay abandoned on the floor, a hot, guilty weight of metal. Mr Andrews stood in the hallway, shaking violently. Security arrived eventually, and led him away. I couldn't look at him and feel anything but hatred. He looked pitiful, but I couldn't pity him.   
  
"Shall I call the coroner?"  
  
Haleh asked softly, one hand on both our shoulders. I nodded slowly.  
  
"And call the police. This is a crime scene,"  
  
Mark added. She turned away. It was then I looked up and saw Carol in the doorway. I struggled to my feet, and stepped unsteadily towards her, my words and actions now unclear. I saw no sign of emotion in her. No wetness in her eye, no tremble in her hands. Her face was white against the shock of black hair. She seemed frozen.   
  
I didn't make it to her. I know that now. I blacked out before I got to the doorway. I wouldn't have known what to say, how to reach someone as devastated as she was. So I fell into the open arms of oblivion and was lost to reality, at least for a while. 


	4. Need

"Need"  
  
I was vaguely aware of Doug entering the room, his easy manner light on the ears and unobtrusive. I carried on with my work, half-listening to the doctors conversation. Moments later, as I turned from the counter towards the bed, the trauma doors were thrown open. The edge of the door caught me on my cheekbone, just below my eye. I was forced backwards, and sank against the metal cupboard door, seeking solidity as my vision and my head clouded.   
  
Clarity returned when the shots began. I didn't hear any of the confrontation that led up to the gun being fired. I'd seen gunshots in their hundreds since I started working here, but I had never until that moment ever heard one being fired, or seen one in real life. I lifted my head slowly, to see the man standing there, his aim so true, so determined. My heart jumped into my mouth, but I daren't flinch. I was barely breathing, keeping myself safe, hiding from this mans wrath.  
  
With the second shot, I put my hands over my eyes and curled myself up as small as I could against the cupboard. Every muscle was rigid, tense. I was terrified. I counted a further two shots, then a clatter as the gun fell to the floor. I glanced up, saw its black metal lying against the linoleum floor. My gaze ran over the weapon, and towards the spot where seconds before my colleagues had stood discussing the patient. Liam was quietly sobbing, his blue eyes bright with tears, and his mother was screeching, a woman possessed, an intrusive sound that made it hard to think clearly.   
  
I felt my heartbeat miss involuntarily when I saw the bloodied body of Dr Ross, spread over the floor by the bed, my supervisor crouched next to him, his arm bloody and his face as white as a sheet. My hands shaking, I crossed slowly towards them.   
  
"What can I do?"  
  
Every medical instinct in me told me he was dead. They screamed it at me, tried to force me to face up to this reality. I couldn't. Not yet. Not until I heard it said, not until we had at least tried.   
  
"Calm her down. Get Mark, and keep Carol out of here!"  
  
The answer came, sudden and rapid. He was breathing heavily, performing CPR mechanically. I turned to Diane, who was on the point of hyperventilating, and tried to figure out what to say. Her ex-husband had just tried to kill their son, and in the process had shot the doctor trying to treat Liam. What could I say? I didn't know. I just knew I had to stop her shrieking. I put my hands on her shoulders.  
  
"Diane…Diane…"  
  
I repeated, trying to make her focus on me. Eventually, her eyes locked into mine, wild and shocked. Her chest heaved uncontrollably. I tried to stay upright as her whole weight collapsed against me unexpectedly. I didn't have to get Mark, as the attending arrived moments later, bursting in through the trauma room doors. I stroked Diane's back rhythmically. My ears half-heard the conversation below me. Mark seemed remarkably calm. His best friend was dead after all. A chill shot down my spine and made me stiffen. Dead. Dr Ross, Doug, friend to all, was dead. I didn't cry. I gripped Diane harder, rocking us both slowly.   
  
I heard Carter move, and shuffle towards the door. I had failed to keep Carol away, I realised. I had failed to protect the nurse from the brutality, the violence and the shock of this scene. The footsteps stopped as suddenly as they began, and I turned in time to see him fall to the floor.  
  
Diane tightened her hold on me, and I struggled to free myself. I twisted away from her grip, realising in that moment just who needed me the most. Realising who it was I needed to help. 


	5. Tomorrow

"See you tomorrow,"  
  
I waved my goodbye as Conni left the lounge, the coffee pot in my other hand. I cupped the mug in both hands and slid into a seat by the table. My eyes refused to focus properly on the chart that lay there, that had to be finished before I could go home. I took a long swallow of my coffee and waited for the caffeine to kick in.   
  
I took off my glasses, pinched the bridge of my nose, and waited. I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to rid myself of the knots that had formed there. My watch told me that it was 6:30pm. I had now been awake for just under 24 hours.   
  
My eyes were shut when I heard the first sound. A loud bang, like an explosion. I assumed at first something had been dropped, or a door had been slammed somewhere in the department. Then it happened again, and was accompanied by frenzied screaming. Someone charged into the lounge, clearly panicked, and gestured wildly to me to follow them.   
  
My legs carried me automatically, instinct and adrenaline driving me onwards. There were two further sounds, which by this time I had figured out were gunshots. The entire department was filled with chaos. I got to the trauma room door, and had to take a second to absorb the scene. I turned to the person behind me and dismissed them to get security. It was then I literally dived through the door, instantly falling to my knees on the linoleum floor.  
  
Carter was attempting CPR on my bloodied best friend.   
  
"Shit, what happened?"  
  
I managed eventually. Though I had seen the gun, lying hot and abandoned, as I had come in the door. My eyes travelled over the younger doctor, noting the growing red patch on his upper arm, and the lack of blood in his face. His pallor was very poor.   
  
"Two entry wounds, no respiratory effort, massive blood loss,"  
  
He answered, struggling for breath. He could barely breathe for himself, never mind resuscitate anyone else. But then, I looked down at the body; there wasn't any chance of resuscitation being successful here. My heart was torn apart inside my chest, because I knew he was gone. I grasped the young residents wrists and pulled them away, placing two fingers on Doug's neck. I supposed I hoped to feel something, any sign of life, but I've always been very good at holding onto hope even in the hopeless.  
  
"He's been like this since it happened?"  
  
I asked, feeling fingers tighten hard round my wrist, until it was almost painful.   
  
"I think he's gone,"  
  
It took a while for those words to sink in. I shouldn't let him go without a fight, but I saw the entry wounds, the blood loss, his open and hollow eyes. He had been dead before I got here.   
  
"Do you want me to call it?"  
  
I heard the question asked, but I shook my head.  
  
"No need, he died on impact,"  
  
Time of death: 6:30pm, my mind silently filled in. I struggled to stay together, struggled to stop my mind racing. I felt the soft touch of a hand on my shoulder, followed quickly by a gentle voice.  
  
"Shall I call the coroner?"  
  
I nodded, recognising the other presence as Haleh.   
  
"And call the police. This is a crime scene,"  
  
My best friend had just been murdered. I just sat there. I couldn't move. The vice like grip on my wrist released suddenly, and he moved away from me. I turned and saw Carol, frozen in the doorway. I couldn't speak, I could barely see. I didn't know how I was going to make it through this, I truly didn't.   
  
I left Haleh to deal with the police. Blood ran viciously cold in my veins, and anger had filtered into every cell of my body. I stormed my way through the department, and into the doctor's lounge.   
  
My fist slammed into the cold metal viciously, the door buckling under the blow, my knuckles bruising and complaining. But I repeated the action again and again, releasing my frustration.   
  
After a minute of this unconfined rage, my body began to shake uncontrollably, tears streaming from my eyes. I turned and slid down the locker until I was sitting on the floor.  
  
I tucked my knees up, screwed my eyes shut and tried to bring my emotions under control. But hot, angry tears flowed without bidding, and tense muscles continued to tremble.  
  
My hands were bruised, red raw and bloody. I could feel the warm liquid against my face. But the physical pain seemed inconsequential. It was the helpless rage that tore my soul apart. My hopeless, bitter frustration at the futility of my best friends death and my inability to help him. He'd always been there. But I couldn't be there when he needed me most. I couldn't help him.  
  
He died a violent, pointless death. It was a waste. I'd lost the best friend I ever had tonight and no words can quite describe exactly how that feels, but I was on the point of meltdown. Surging emotions vied for attention and at the vortex was loss, sucking me slowly towards her cold oblivion. 


End file.
